A list identifying the origins of all my furniture would go something like this: Hand-me-down from parents, garage sale, garage sale, gift, dumpster, first pay-check, and found on trash night.
One of my personal goals in life is to acquire objects that tell stories. It’s nice if it’s a story about family or friends, but my personal favorite is a story of adventurous acquisition.
Take my new wooden hutch, for example. Pierre and I found it on trash night (which is why Monday is my favorite night for taking walks) abanonded on the curb next to piles of garbage, old metal radiator covers, and other undesirables. We took it home, cleaned it up, glued the door back on, and Pierre painted it. All it needs now are some new little knobs and the guest room has a place for a lamp.
Don’t get me wrong–new furniture is great and I even have some (beds). But new furniture doesn’t pose any challenge beyond the search. For a thrift junkie, there’s nothing like the rush of finding something you didn’t even knew you were looking for. You need to have an eye for possibilities, new life, new purposes. With found furniture, there’s no master plan or list. Found furniture just happens. And when it does, you’d better be willing to seize the moment, climb the dumpster, grab it by its cute little booty, and bring it on home to meet its new family.